


Things that Scatter

by ramblingfangirl



Series: Those he forgot [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Acid Wastes, Bittersweet, Cybertron, Cybetronian civil war, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mnemosurgery, Nicknames, T-Cog drama, start of friendship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblingfangirl/pseuds/ramblingfangirl
Summary: Scattergun of the Fourth Vorsk Offensive. Conjunx Endura of a certain bot known as Tumbler, as well as a friend of Hoist's.Even if he did only meet Hoist after bursting through an entryway with questions and a malfunctioning t-cog.A malfunctioning t-cog which, if not dealt with, would mean that Scattergun would have to go to a reunion date while stuck as a car.





	Things that Scatter

_“Hello! Hello? Sorry for the intrusion, but are you Hoist?”_

 

* * *

 

Hoist, in the scheme of things, was only a low-level doctor. If he could be called even that. No grand surgeon like the likes of Ratchet.

More than anything, he was an engineer, an engineer who did occasional check-ups, basic fine tunings, making sure there were no viruses hidden in someone’s coding.

But today, there hadn’t been any grand surgeon like Ratchet available. So, this mech here had to make do with an engineer.

“I don’t know how you went and got yourself stuck. I’m not sure how to override this.” Hoist spoke to who was now apparently his patient.

The patient spun this wheels in response, as if he was doing his best to shrug while still stuck as a car. “I dunno, it just happened. It was a fight, I wasn’t paying attention to _everything_ that was going on.”

 “Well that’s a fine way to get yourself killed-”

It was at that point he realised he hadn’t picked up on what the other autobot was called. Everything had been nonstop since he’d burst in, in a flux between panicking and laughing about his current situation.

The laughing had won out and now here they were with a puzzle to solve.

“Scattergun! Scattergun of the fourth Vorsk offensive!” Was cheerily filled in.

“…Scattergun it is.” An MTO then, with that heck of a clunky name.

That explained the ignorance. 

 “So, whatcha doing?” Scattergun quickly hummed next.

“Trying to fix your t-cog.”

“How?”

“How?”

“Yeah! Whatcha doing?”

…Well, it would be nice to have someone to talk to around here.

Hoist never got the chance much nowadays to have a proper conversation with a fellow cybertronian. His time would be spent alone on some engineering project, the loneliness only broken by the occasional bot coming in for a check-up. And he _hated_ being isolated like that.

So, if this Scattergun was interested in an explanation, why _not_ give it to him?

“Normally,” He started “There are certain pressure points which can be used to trigger a transformation.” To emphasise his point he gave another deliberate thwack at such a pressure point. But still no sign of anything else happening. Not even a sound that might indicate shifting gears.

“Like when you bonk someone on the helm if you wanna see their alt?”

“Yes. Like that.” That was the most well-known one, just not one that was applicable to try deal with this case.

“I didn’t know there were other places! Thought that was it.” Scattergun’s awe was clear in his voice, the mech clearly hanging onto every word explained.

 “Depends on the bot. The helm is the most universally effective one, with the sensory clusters there and it’s proximity to the neural processor, but you should have another one _here-“_

_Thwack!_

“Maybe you could drop me!” Scattergun chimed in. “Bouncing-“

“No.” Hoist cut him off, as he got up to go look for some different tools.  “I know what rumour you’re talking about and no.”

“But I know someone who heard about someone who’d gotten overcharged and-“

“No! It’s more likely something else gets broken before we get you out of your alt.” He couldn’t pretend that as an engineer this method had never been tempting to him when a gadget just refused to work but he wasn’t going to use it on _a person._

 “If you say so.” Scattergun dropped the topic with a whistle.

Before quickly moving onto the next one. “Could you send a message for me? I don’t have hands now.”

Hoist paused in his rummaging through his tool kit. “To?”

“Fins!” Wheels spun again but this time so fast in his excitement they were almost a blur. “He’s my junxie!”

An _MTO_ with a conjunx endura? Hoist couldn’t say he’d seen that before.

“I wanna let ‘im know I’m okay!” His plating ruffled.

“Give me the details of the communicator and I’ll send a message then. But after that it’s back to trying to fix you.”

Hoist wound up having to ask Scattergun to repeat them a few times once given, him having fired them off so fast before he’d even been able to retrieve the communicator.

“So, what’s your Fins like?” He asked as he finished sending and placed the device back down and started moving back to the patient.

It was best to start distracting him. He had an idea of what to do to get him out of his alt which might work but…it would be painful.

“I don’t know where to start!” Scattergun hummed for a bit before apparently deciding that he _did_.  “He’s _great_! He’s _smart_ and he cares _a lot_ and he has the cutest fins on the side of his helm!” He gushed.

“We’ve both had work, so we’ve not been able to meet for ages now, but once I get back we’re going to go to the _Acid Wastes_!”

“What’s his work?” Hoist questioned, trying to contribute.

And just like that, no more humming or gushing at all.

Scattergun went dead silent.

“…A surgeon. He’s…a surgeon.” He mumbled.

“A surgeon?” Hoist stopped in his tracks. “Well if he’s a surgeon then he’ll do a much better job of this than me. You should let him work on you!

“No!” Scattergun sharply interjected.

“Look, it might be embarrassing, going to the conjunx in this sort of situation, but I’m sure he’d be willing to fix you if-“

 _“No!”_ Scattergun adamantly stated again, not even letting the green mech finish talking this time. “No. No, he wouldn’t do that.”

Then, so quiet it could be barely heard at all.

_“Not to me.”_

…He wasn’t sure what that was about, but…time to change the topic, Hoist thought.

Seemed he would have to do this himself after all.

“Would you like me to explain what I’m going to do?”

This perked the bot up again. “Yes!”

And so he set to work, all the while the bot still asking his questions and Hoist doing his best to distract with answers as parts were forcefully wrenched apart.

It really was no surprise then, with all that noise in mind, that neither of them heard the communicator when it started buzzing away.

 

* * *

 

_The plan was a bad idea. They didn’t care if all the others were in favour of it, they could and would still block it-_

_The plan was a bad idea. They didn’t care if all the others were in favour of it, they-_

_The plan was-_

_The plan was something that could be considered. Since all the others were in favour it perhaps they should think against blocking it-_

Close. But not quite the right line of thinking.

_The plan was something that-_

_The plan was something that should be done. All the others were in favour over it and only a lunatic would block it._

There you go. Fixed.

And with that, Tumbler removed his needles from the neck of the unconscious mech in front of him. A mech who would soon be taken out and dumped into an alleyway somewhere, where he would think that’d he passed out from being overcharged. Nothing else to it.

As for Tumbler, this was just another job done for his shift. He was just glad, as he left the room and made his way down the corridor, that this had gone so successfully.

Despite the fact he was very, _very_ distracted.

He had been since Scattergun had left.

He never liked it when Scatters was called out to fight. To danger.

Or rather, even _more_ danger than they were already in with this war.

It was _awful_.

So long gone and- and-

_He hated it. The fear that…what if-_

He rounded a corner to come face to face with Brainstorm, waving his communicator.

“Message for you!”

“What are you doing with that again?”

He’d left it locked away, not allowed to bring it with him when he went to go do a procedure. That had, in fact, been what he was going to go get un-locked away now to check himself. To see if there was any news.

They were supposed to be going to the Acid Wastes later… _together_ …they’d planned it. Scatters was supposed to be back soon for that.

And so far, he’d heard _nothing_ …

Brainstorm held his arms up with optics wide to protest his innocence. “I didn’t do anything to it this time!”

Tumbler knew for a fact that if his friend had his communicator but hadn’t done anything to it, it was only because he’d ran out of time while doing his other experiments.

Or Brainstorm was lying, and he would find some new feature when it was least convenient.

Last time that had happened had been when he was trying to discreetly check his messages late without waking Scatters, recharging right beside him.

His conjunx was not only _woken up_ when Brainstorm’s _upgrade_ made itself apparent, but had also wound up falling off the berth entirely in his alarm, Tumbler having been unable to move fast enough to successfully catch him in time.

Scatters found the whole thing funny once he understood what was going on, but _Tumbler_ was still not willing to “let’s just forget it and move on Fins!” as his conjunx had suggested.

But as it was, he still needed that communicator to see the message on the communicator, so he’d take it from his friend for now and just have to stay on his guard.

“So what does it say?”  Brainstorm asked, peering over Tumbler’s shoulder.

“Like you haven’t read it yet.” He said dryly.

And with that, he clicked the message open.

Not sure whether fear or excitement should be more dominant right now.

It would be from Scatters. It had to be.

…Or about.

But no. No it couldn’t be bad. No. Not bad.

Brainstorm had read it after all, and _he_ didn’t seem like he was bothered by anything.

It would be fine.

He just needed to read it. He just needed to see what it said.

And so, he did.

 

* * *

 

The resulting sound was very unpleasant.

The screeching of metal against metal, but with a final yank that was it done.

Scattergun was out of his alt with a loud whoop.

“That’s not your t-cog fixed.” Hoist warned. “So don’t go trying to use it, it won’t work.”

He’d wound up having to manually move the different parts out of their places. Forcing things to go places when they’d rather do anything but. A very time consuming and, for Scattergun, _painful_ process, even if he’d done his best to brave through it and continue his asking of questions.

But it was _done_ now.

“ _Can_ it not be fixed? It’s not broke for good is it?”

“No.” … _Probably_ no. “But the time it would take to find out what’s going on there and fix it…you still have the Acid Wastes to go to with your Fins, don’t you?”

There was no _probably_ about whether that would be missed if Hoist were to properly try fix this right now.

Something which, judging from the look on Scattergun’s now visible face, he clearly released too with that pointed out.

He came to his decision on which option to choose instantaneously.

“I need to go!”

And in that moment Hoist’s own arms were abruptly grabbed by the beaming mech. “Thanks for the help! This is great!”

“Do you want the communicator to let Fins know you’re on your way?”

The answer had been a resounding yes and after giving him a pat on the chassis, Scattergun went off to get it.

What Scattergun found when he looked was many, many missed messages.

He was conflicted how to feel about it. On the other hand, he didn’t like at all that he’d made his junxie worried, but on other hand the messages were so, so sweet and he could just feel himself turning to mush looking over at them as he composed his own reply.

 

[[Don’t worry Fins! Scatters here! Was just a silly problem that’s mostly fixed! I’m on my way now, can’t wait to see you! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX]]

Scattergun debated adding more kisses but decided as he hit send that it would do until they were back together in-person.

“You’re going to need to come back.” Hoist reminded once the communicator was back down. “Or find someone else a bit more skilled than _me_ with this to fix the issue.”

“Will do, will do!”

“And hold on!”  Hoist went to go rummaging for something for a bit, before pulling it out.

“I gathered you have a medical interest.” He presented the datapad. Just the basics in there, he only even knew the basics himself after all, but he had a good feeling it would do. “I’m going to want this _back_ though. Bit more incentive to pay attention to _everything_ going on in the battlefield.”

The sound that came next was most definitely a squeal, followed by an almost incoherent string of gratitude’s, which made Hoist’s decision to give the datapad more than worth it by _far_ , as well as multiple shoulder shakes.

Hoist was quickly learning that Scattergun was an apparently very… _tactile_ sort of person

And then once that was all over and done with he bolted for the exit.

At a speed, Hoist had to admit with the amount of pain Scattergun must still be in with the recent procedure, was impressive. If also _stupid_ to do for the very same reason.

There was no question that he was going to end up falling.

 

 

* * *

 

And that he did, but not quite as soon as Hoist might have expected.

He found Tumbler first.

Or was found _by_.

_“Scatters!” “Fins!”_

Who could say which of the conjunx endura was the first to notice the other.

It didn’t even really matter.

The reaction from both was the same anyway.

Even if Scattergun never quite made it to Tumbler.

In his efforts to go just that _bit_ faster, his legs finally gave out, the pain of having them forcefully wrenched and twisted not too long ago sharply catching up to him.

But this time- unlike that incident with a communicator upgraded by an eccentric scientist of a friend- Tumbler was able to move fast enough to catch him before he hit the ground.

 _“Scatters?!”_ This time said with a great deal of alarm instead of a great deal of relief.

“I’m okay!” He beamed, looking up at his lover’s face. “I’m okay!”

“What was _that_? You were in the medbay what happened? Are you hurt?” Fins didn’t seem convinced _at all_ by his lover’s words.

“My t-cog’s broke a bit but the doctor got me out of my alt-mode so’s not too bad. Just sore is all.”

“ _Broke?_ ” Tumbler looked around, as if trying to see if right now, _somehow_ , there was some sort of surgeon in their immediate vicinity.

“Fins…” Scattergun took a hold of the fins that had granted the nickname and gently pulled the helm of his fretting junxie down until their foreheads touched.

“I’m okay.” He repeated, that wonderful, often infectious smile still on his face.  

“Besides, I got something cool out of it! Wanna guess what?”

Tumbler took a moment, still trying to decide exactly what he was supposed to do with how his conjunx had just collapsed in front of him!

“A datapad with medical information on it! The doctor gave it to me.” Was filled in during that moment, Scattergun unable to wait any longer.

Now, Tumbler knew immediately how big a deal this was to him.

You could not _know_ Scatters and not know how badly he wanted to be a doctor, especially not be his conjunx endura. His failure to be able to help with that dream other than try be supportive had been a consistent regret of his.

And as such, despite the fear for him still being very present, he couldn’t help but also be very proud and happy for Scatters too.

“That’s great! I told you, I _knew_ you’d be able to start making steps to get there.”

“And they say an MTO can’t be a doctor.”

Scattergun continued quickly on before Tumbler could protest about him staying stuff like that again.

“I could help you too with it, y ’know.” Came, more quietly. “Once I’m good enough. If you have a bad work day. I could help you.” Optics glanced down at the other’s digits.

Digits that were currently softly gripping his arms, Tumbler having made the decision to try help support them some point.

“Just…don’t get sent to the medbay next time, to learn something.” A mix between a tease and a concerned statement, neither aspect quite winning over the other just yet.

“I didn’t _try_ get sent there.”

“I know that, but you _have_ to take care of yourself too _._ _Promise_?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Scattergun!”

“Alright, alright!” Scattergun tilted his helm up to give Fins a quick kiss. “I promise!”

“Thank you.”  A faceplate tapped in return.

“Not like I can hurt myself much in the Acid Wastes anyhow. Not with you there to protect me.”

“Are you still wanting to-?”

“Always!” He started trying to stand up with that, but even with his junxie supporting him as he did his legs quickly started shaking and concern grew on whether they were going to give out again.

A few adjustments were attempted, trying to decide how to better approach this and Scatters was feeling himself beginning to get upset that-

But Tumbler quickly caught on to that budding, growing upset on his face and- “I have an idea.”

And then, in one fluid motion, Scattergun was once again off his pedes and once again held in adoring arms of a mech he loved with every lil bit of his spark. But this time it was on purpose.

Swept off his pedes to be carried of to the amazing Acid Wastes by the most amazing mech there was.

Scattergun could have squeed, as he pressed himself even closer to the warm chassis he was held against.

“Doctor’s after.”

And he didn’t argue with that at all.

Instead they just talked, talked and talked and simply basked in each other’s presence to the point where they could almost forget about all of their problems in this war-torn world.

Taking advantage of each and every moment that they could, until something else inevitably caused them to be separated once more.

Even if, right then, right in those moments, they had no possible way of knowing just what sort of separation was coming their way.

Or, how his problems would not stay the only thing there that Tumbler would come to do his best to forget.

 

* * *

 

_“Hello! Hello? Sorry for the intrusion, but are you Hoist?”_

_The green mech turned to face the one calling out for him from behind._

_“I am.” He provided._

_“Forgive me for interrupting, I just need to ask some questions.” They explained, seeming quite distressed about something. “Do you know a mech named Scattergun?”_

_“Is this an investigation?”_

_“No! No don’t worry, not an official one. It’s a personal matter.” The voice of the blue and white- what looked like a shuttle-  was quavering and he was very visibly just barely holding himself together._

_Hoist let out a vent._

_“I did. A lovely guy. Wanted to be a doctor.”_

_“Did?”_

_“Did. He’s…it’s a damn shame what happened to him.”_

_“What happened?”_

_Optics narrowed._

_“Look, I don’t know who you are, and unless this is some sort of investigation I’d rather not talk about the death of a friend to some random bot who-“_

_“Please! I meant no offense I just- just one more question please! I need to know!”_

Another deep, deep vent, as Hoist rubbed the side of his helm.

_“Look, what’s your name?”_

He wanted to know who was asking.

_“Mach. My name is Mach.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on how Hoist mentions in the comics having been friends with Scattergun.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
